


The Woman Who Talks to Air

by Mythros



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post-FIN, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7319638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythros/pseuds/Mythros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years post-FIN, Gabrielle is a smart, hardened warrior adored by the villagers she's built a new life defending. But her feelings for Xena, who's remained in spirit-form, still hold her in a grip she can't ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**| PROLOGUE |**

"Xena…?"

I can always tell when she's about to appear. A heightened stillness fills the air for a moment, and a small wave clenches my chest—even now. Even after all these years.

She's come at night, mostly. Right when dusk falls to blackness. I'm more likely to be alone then, and I caught on quickly: It takes energy for her to appear. Even more if it's around other people. So we made an unspoken understanding: We meet like this in the quiet. We meet briefly, and wordlessly. It's a time for me to just take in the wonder, the comfort of her form. The familiar bronze glint of armor, the smooth black leather, the calloused hands, the broad shoulders. The bottomless eyes.

Xena, vaporous, and I, solid, stare and stare across the short distance of the fire-pit. I sit as still as a statue, almost as if moving toward her—which I long to do—would scare her away, dissolve her back into the gloom as if she'd never been there.

It feels a lifetime ago that she was able to appear by my side, to place an arm about my shoulders and kiss the top of my head, to smile her smile and to murmur encouragements. As the weeks and months passed, it'd taken more and more for her to materialize; our moments together became briefer and briefer, until I could only just feel the hint of her touch before she blinked out of the material realm once more.

At least this way, no effort exerted to conjure the feel of a warm embrace, to evoke the low tones of that voice, Xena can appear to me for as long as she's able. The strain of holding her body together shows only in taut, tiny movements of her hand muscles, a nearly imperceptible ripple that I first thought was merely imagined. Hundreds of evenings just like tonight, though, spent memorizing her form, have convinced me of everything and nothing.

"Xena?" I call out again softly into the stillness, beckoning her to appear. Long ago, I told myself that the anchor of my voice helps her spirit to focus its diffusion towards my mortal senses. I hold onto that thought. To any semblance of certainty, control. I find my hand reaching down involuntarily, coming to lightly rest on the chakram hanging from my belt. My own anchor.

I close my eyes against the evening's chill until I can sense the air become even heavier in a sudden shift. I angle my head down to the ground and let out a long breath; my ritual. Inhale, swallow against the aching fear that tonight might be the night our visits end…and…open.

 _She's here_. Relief floods me from head to toe. One more shaky breath. _Thank the Gods._

"Xena." As always, I'm unable to keep the release of tension from seeping into my tone. I feel my heart unclench and start beating again. My throat releases its knot. My own spirit, still tied to my flesh—for better or worse, each night I decide differently—feels as if it's uncoiling, stretching out toward the presence across the flickering flames.

Cautiously, I let my eyes follow. Once my gaze meets Xena's, I know I'll be stuck there, entranced until her eyelids fall abruptly, signaling her oncoming fade. So I start from the tips of her boots and slowly work my way up her frame. Same black leather up to the knees, same thighs, same thick hide and soft glow of armor, same strong neck and jaw, same mysterious hint of a smile, and those same blue orbs above it all, steady and nearly unblinking. Not a day older than she was the first time she appeared on a boat headed away from Japa—the day I was sure both of our lives ended, but neither quite did.

Xena eternally young, eternally at her peak. I wouldn't have her spirit appear to me any other way, were I given any choice in this.

As for me, Time has settled its hand on my own features more than I care to know. I cannot recall the last time I paused before my reflection in a lake's water or shopkeeper's looking glass. The hollows about my eyes, the lines that tug at the edges of my lips—I soon stopped caring to see them mirrored back at me. Now I only catch the hint of my transformation in the jump of a villager's eyes when we meet: I look haunted.

I want to be haunted.

_Gods, keep me haunted._

 

* * *

 

**| CHAPTER 1 |**

_She looks more peaceful in her sleep than she truly is_ , Xena mused, not for the first time. Grimacing didn't seem to fit a spirit, but grimace she did. Her long-ago choice to remain half-attached to her body, holding her tall dark-haired form in spirit limbo, allowed the warrior to still feel such expressions work their way onto her ever-young face.

Gazing down on Gabrielle's still body, the warrior could feel a pulse of concern seize her being, followed by a wash of warmth as she was once more struck by the smaller woman's quiet grace. The years had done nothing to dim her beauty to Xena's eyes—even though she could mentally read that the bard felt far differently—and sleep eased the furrows from her soft features, reminding the warrior of the pair's more carefree years wandering the woods of Greece together.

Even when it had seemed that a band of grimy bandits was waiting around every corner, Xena recalled those days as full of laughter. Gabrielle's frequent memories, readable to Xena whenever they included the warrior's name, recalled the same, usually followed by a yearning to go back in time. _Xena, I wish you were still here with me_ , would float up to the older woman's consciousness, before the bard could stop herself.

And then, like clockwork, came the next thought. _Xena's gone, Gabrielle_. _She got the redemption she yearned for—and you'd never take that away from her, just because you miss her like Tartarus._ Xena felt a pang every time she sensed her partner begin to mentally kick herself, trying to train out the self-pity as she imagined a disciplined fighter must.

 _I'm still with you, Gabrielle._ Xena tried to beam her response directly to the bard's troubled mind. _And I'll be here, waiting for you, for as long as it takes._ A few times, she thought she had seen the blonde head lift up curiously in response to her silent vows, but then drop back down with a vigorous little shake. _Back to work_. Indulging fancies was the pastime of a younger self that the bard could hardly remember.

Throughout the cool of the evening, Xena kept drifting into fond reveries, passing time in her usual invisible vigil over Gabrielle's sleeping body—hours that felt as if they sometimes lasted for mere minutes, sometimes for entire lifespans, in the suspension of spirit time.

Gabrielle had always been a calm sleeper back in what the bard had once laughingly termed their "glory days," drifting off easily as soon as she rested her head upon their sleeping skin, and hardly stirring whenever Xena's hair-trigger instincts made the warrior leap up battle-ready two or three times each night. Gabrielle would only stir sleepily to pull Xena back down onto the soft fur, wrapping an arm around the warriors' middle and pulling herself into the warm crook of Xena's arm. And the younger woman would awaken each morning with a sunny grin, followed by a few good-natured grumbles about being cursed to share a bed with the earliest riser in the Known World.

Xena smiled ruefully as she remembered the exact sound of Gabrielle's voice and the precise wrinkle of her nose as she bustled about their campsite muttering. The warrior only let the memory pierce her for a few moments before she gathered her fighter's resolve and returned to gazing downward, rewarded to see green eyes slowly opening into gray dawn light.

Gabrielle had slept soundly this time, Xena noted. _Good._ But she'd been pushing herself to arise earlier and earlier of her own sense of duty, strapping on sais and chakram with grim efficiency and dousing the embers without her past fanfare of cheery humming and breakfast planning. She'd chew on some dried meat or berries later, without expression, as she steered Argo toward the nearby town, not pausing for rest or to take in a beautiful vista as she once would have.

Still, Xena felt gratitude that it'd been many moons since the nightmares chasing Gabrielle from Japa had ceased snapping the bard's small body upwards in sweaty panic each morning. Xena had watched with relief as the worst seemed to pass several years ago.

But lately the warrior had felt a familiar worry begin to rise up through her ethereal body more often, as she watched the younger woman fall into a stony torpor each evening after Xena begrudgingly drifted away from earth, forever losing the struggle to keep her spirit concentrated into dense matter for _just one second more_.

This morning, Xena felt her spirit-body vibrating with stronger concern than usual, much like that frightening night long ago when she'd first seen the bard experience this depth of despair, picking up a blade and beating a tree with it. _Where has Gabrielle's light gone?_

Only this time, with no Callisto to save Gabrielle from, and no other external demon to destroy in battle, Xena had watched her partner truly sink into the darkness that followed. The only dark that frightened the warrior more was the one that she'd sensed in the younger woman the few times that Gabrielle had let herself seriously consider what could happen if Xena's presence left her life permanently. It kept Xena returning evening after evening, year after year, helpless to do much but witness how strain etched itself into Gabrielle's features.

Last night, as she'd felt herself dissipate, Xena had sent out her usual hope that the bard could feel the intensity of her entire being radiating downwards, that it might act as some kind of balm. _I've never left you, Gabrielle. Just like I promised. And trust me—I never will._

Then she'd watched her partner's compact form, still strapped into red leather half-armor, undo her sleeping skin and lay down with a long sigh that rolled through her bare torso. Her breathing quickly deepened as she sunk into a heavy sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabrielle swayed gently with Argo's body as the golden mare carried her down the dirt road. Twining her fingers in the white mane, she surveyed her surroundings. Early morning fog wreathed trees that were becoming barer with each passing day. She watched as a dry, red leaf fell from a wizened tree to her left, drifting slowly to the ground in the light breeze.

"How you doing, girl?" She leaned her head down to whisper in the horse's ear. Gone were the days when the pair would eye each other warily. In the years since Xena's death, both had seemed to instinctively draw together, anticipating each other's moods. Argo was never far from Gabrielle, and Gabrielle had, more than once, thrown herself heedlessly towards bandits to defend the horse in skirmishes along the road.

"Gods, it's getting cold, huh?"

The horse snorted in response.

"When we get to the village, I'm going to make sure you're nice and warm in Malena's stable, okay?" Another snort.

Gabrielle brushed a hand through her own short, blonde hair, and gazed around her once more, taking in a deep breath of crisp morning air. From the sun's position in the sky, she judged it would take just another half-hour to get to Thraxos, if she nudged Argo into a canter. She clenched her knee, feeling the horse respond immediately to the slightest pressure.

The bard bounced as they picked up the pace, letting the movement clear the fog from her heavy head. Last night she'd dreamt about Xena again—this time, it was a vivid re-living of the moment she'd awakened from her enchanted slumber in the woods of the Norselands, finding that her champion had braved fire to awaken her with a soft kiss.

When Gabrielle had risen in the dawn pre-light to find herself alone, as usual, it had taken minutes to shake off the intense feeling of staring into sky-colored eyes. Her body felt as pinned by the weight of an unnamable yearning as it had been by the gnarled tree roots that had encased her then.

 _I wish I could stay asleep_ , had been her first thought, as she gradually became aware of the hard earth beneath her, and no sweet Norse pines scenting the air. But then, a sense of duty followed quickly, rooting her firmly in the warrior's reality that she'd taken on with quiet pride, and still found so much meaning in. _Thraxos isn't going to defend itself. Especially not a village known for communal homes that welcome widowed elders to spend their final days in peace and comfort._

Argo kicked up small plumes of dust as the pair made their way steadily onward, soon approaching the sagging walls of Thraxos. Gabrielle hopped down from Argo as they reached the village's main gate—unlatched as usual, no matter how many times she'd reminded the townsfolk that their ingrained friendliness left them vulnerable to marauders—and landed as lightly as possible, giving her head a rueful shake. She kept the crunch of her boots soft on the stony earth as she walked through the entrance and locked it behind her, pulling along an equally tranquil Argo.

Gabrielle often found herself on tiptoe as she slipped into the sleepy little town each morning, far before the occupants of the humble huts stirred themselves to life. She paused to pass silent nods with the few cheerful farmhands who moved around the barns, peering about her at the main square that she knew would be bustling in just a couple hours. The peace of it soothed the murmurs of her heart, after last night's dream. She moved on with a confident step to the one place she knew had sprung awake as early as she had: Malena's bake-house.

It took less than a half-hour to cross the village's entire breadth, to arrive at the familiar rough-hewn door. The golden light of a fire glowed behind two small windows and faint woodsmoke curled up from a thin chimney.

Gabrielle smiled to herself as she opened Malena's gate, then led Argo back towards a small stable. When she emerged from making sure the horse was unburdened of her saddle and had plenty of oats to munch on, she caught the alluring scent of bread filling the air. She was taken momentarily by the grip of a satisfying hunger that had been eluding her these past weeks as she sat alone in her regular camping site. She had a flash of Xena teasing her about her formerly endless appetite, and her smile almost faded completely—until the door in front of her flew open.

"Gabrielle!"

Before she knew it, the tiny, energetic older woman had crossed the space between them and had the bard wrapped up in a tight hug. "What're you doing standing in my yard staring at nothing, lass? Get in the house!" Malena tried to sound imperious, but Gabrielle looked down to see her hazel eyes doing their usual jig. She couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"Oh, you know me," Gabrielle said with a self-deprecating grin and quick eye roll. "Always in my head." She lay a hand warmly on the woman's shoulder. "But you don't have to ask me twice to come inside. What're you baking today?"

"The usual loaves for the marketplace," Malena replied, gently pushing Gabrielle towards her home. "And," she added with sly smile up at the bard, "a new cinnamon bun recipe that I'd like you to be the first to sample." She winked. "Think our town's defender can spare a few moments for a taste test this afternoon?"

"Hmmm…" Gabrielle smiled back. "I think I can manage that."

Soon the bard found herself pushed down into a chair, a warm mug of tea pushed into her hands, and Malena's stream of chatter pushing away any last semblances of her heart's earlier heaviness. She eased off her long white-and-brown leather coat, and stretched out her booted feet toward the warm hearth before her, gazing with her usual admiration at the richly woven wall-decorations that Malena had long ago brought with her when she moved to Thraxos from the Isle of Britannia.

Turning her attention to Malena, Gabrielle tried to keep up as the small figure whizzed about the room, grabbing ingredients, throwing flour-covered bowls into a sink-basin, and prodding the crackling fire.

"Tabros, the butcher, he shorted me on the bacon fat in our last barter. I'm going to call on him later about that… You remember Actrius, that little boy down the lane? You'll be happy to know he's recovered from those bee stings quite nicely… My, my, am I going to have enough sugar for these buns? Ah! Yes, I think I have a second pouch on the shelf over here…. Are you warm enough, dear? Here, let me top off your mug 'o tea…"

Gabrielle offered up her mug with a chuckle. "You never cease to amaze me, Malena! You really never slow down, do you?"

The older woman's curly grey-and-red hair bounced as she turned back to look at the bard. "Is that a comment on my age, lassie?" She gave a mock-fierce look. "You know what I always say: if you don't use it, you lose it!" Then she turned to move lightly towards her worktable, and began kneading some dough with vigor. "You can let life hang heavy, or you can just keep moving. And age can't catch up with you then, try as the bastard might!"

Gabrielle laughed, then shook her head slightly. "Whatever you say." Her eyes closed for a moment as she returned to a thought she'd had a thousand times. _Gods, she reminds me of Cyrene._ She sent up a small prayer for the long-gone soul of the woman she considered a second mother.

"Don't you 'whatever' me, girlie! You best listen to sense. Might do you some good to pick up more work here in the village." The baker made her tone as stern as she could manage. Then she softened when two green eyes, almost able to cover up a curious, deep sadness with affection for the older woman's sake, looked back at her. "I'm just saying, my house is always open if today's the day you decide to stay," she added in a gentler voice.

"And I'm always grateful to hear it, Malena." Gabrielle gazed warmly at the older woman's doubtful expression until they both smiled. "Really, I am." She let out a soft sigh. "But I have to camp away from the village at night. I just…have my reasons. Okay?"

"Ach, yes. I know, I know," Malena replied briskly. Then she turned down to her now over-worked dough, muttering to herself. "Warriors and their cryptic 'reasons'…" She began separating the gooey pile into small, rounded shapes and kept herself unusually quiet as she worked for a few minutes. She could feel the younger woman's eyes follow her movements, and she finally let the worry seep out of her. _The girl can take care of herself. She's more than shown that, this past month. Stop your foolish troubling._

And then the baker smiled once more over at the bard, just to reassure her that hard feelings had no home here.

Their usual exchange over, the two women settled into an easy morning of conversation and chores, until Gabrielle signaled it was time to go by snapping her chakram in place, and setting out resolutely for the day's rounds.


	3. Chapter 3

Crossing the village square, Gabrielle was reminded what had drawn her to Malena: the baker had been the only one who hadn't jumped back from the bard's fierce gaze, upon their first encounter a month ago. Whether the older woman had covered up the villagers' usual, nearly unbearable look of fright-turned-to-sympathy or had simply never learned the Thraxosian tendency toward well-meant—but tone-deaf—pity for those who looked as if misfortune visited them, Gabrielle could never figure out.

As she walked swiftly towards the village's east wall, the bard almost chuckled to herself at how poorly the villagers hid their reactions to her. Their concern was not as pronounced as the morning she'd first burst into the village to warn them of the warlord Damarius' approach, of course—but it showed nonetheless.

At a respectful distance, the men and women called out hearty greetings to their well-loved, if not mysteriously sullen, defender as she marched by.

"Good morning, good Gabrielle!" A root vegetable merchant raised a hand and gave a ruddy smile to the rushed shape of the blonde warrior. "What have you got planned for our fair Thraxos this morning?"

Gabrielle paused long enough to reply in a kind voice. "Good morning, Palamus. Checking the east defenses. Running the volunteer brigade through some drills, then off to the Elder Home to see if they need anything before I head out for the evening."

The man's head bobbed happily. "Sounds good. Not that I know what all that looks like—" he added with another smile, "but I like the sound of it! Gods bless you."

Gabrielle nodded. "Thank you. Hope business is good today. Looks like it might rain."

Then she set off again. As she walked, her hand found itself running through her pale hair in her absentminded habit. She regarded the gathering rain clouds expertly, trying to gauge how much they would affect her afternoon drill plans. The young men who volunteered to defend Thraxos—and the handful of women, it always pleased her to remember—were harder to train in wet conditions, sticking through out of dedication, but whispering about their desires to return to warm homes when they thought their teacher couldn't hear.

As she closed in on the east wall, Gabrielle considered whether she could afford to just let the youths go early today, should the gray sky open and pour.

 _Xena_ , _what would you do?_ she asked silently—another well-worn habit. Her lips formed the words involuntarily. _Both sides have their pros and cons._

By now, of course, she no longer expected her partner's low, comforting voice to permeate her mind with the perfect response. That gift had faded quickly after the boat ride—a lifetime ago, surreal—that brought her from Japa to the Land of the Pharaohs. It was gone completely by the time she'd set course for Greece.

 _Perhaps it's best you can't answer me, Xena_ , she rationalized quickly, as soon as she felt that old longing stir in her chest. _It always brought tears to my eyes, and that's just what I need right now—make these villagers_ ** _really_** _jump to see me._ Her mouth twisted downward, in self-reproach.

_Anyway, I know what to do. Training must go on, rain or shine. We just don't know when Damarius could return next…_

"Hail, warrior chief!" A friendly holler snapped Gabrielle out of her reverie. Her eyes traveled up the gray wooden wall in front of her to rest on the kind face of a young man, dressed in his best approximation of a warrior's leathers.

"Aptos!" she called up to where the teen stood, balancing precariously on the narrow barrier and grinning down at her. "Do I have to tell you _every_ day not to call me that?" She tempered the exasperation in her voice with her own responding grin. "'Gabrielle' is just fine. I'm serious."

"You know what I _really_ should call you?" he replied enigmatically, before taking a nimble hop sideways to the ladder and shinnying down. The twinkle in his eyes had been replaced with shy curiosity by the time he bounded over and stood before her, letting the words rush out of his mouth in his trademark exuberance. "What them kids in town call you."

He cocked his head quizzically at her, causing his long brown hair to shift about his ears, before continuing. "I used to not understand why 'til just now, watching you approach."

"Oh?" Gabrielle let her own voice and face become unreadable, with just her green eyes taking on a sharp, inquiring glint. "What's that?"

"It isn't real nice, I shouldn't'a said anything," Aptos pulled his words up short, boyish features furrowing in response to his teacher's glare. He lowered his head and stared at his worn-out boots.

Gabrielle softened her expression with a bit of effort. _No need to take out your fatigue_ _on this kid._ She reached out a hand to rest gently on his arm. _He always means well._

"Hey…don't worry. I won't be mad. You can tell me." She was heartened when the teen met her gaze. She recognized, intimately, the unease she found in his brown eyes—a feeling born from the intense desire to never let down one's warrior teacher.

"Aye, aye, chief!" Thankfully, the young man's playful air was never far under the surface. "Y'see, they call you the 'woman who talks to air,'" he went on, lowering his naturally loud voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though no one was around to listen. He mimed a looping hand movement around his head that apparently accompanied this nickname.

"It's on account that you sometimes look like you're talking to no one? Kinda like you've gone loony…" The boy paused and, when his teacher didn't respond, carried on to fill the awkward silence between them. "Like you've gone off the deep end, y'know? Like you hear voices or see ghosts or maybe've even been touched by the Furies, or, or…" His voice trailed off when Gabrielle finally raised her hand.

"Thank you for telling me that, Aptos," she said quietly. _I had no idea I spoke to Xena aloud so often around other people._ Then she put a smile on her face, seeing the teen freeze in a listening attitude, resembling a much younger schoolboy. "Now, remember what I said in training? Ignore what others say about you. It'll only become a distraction in the middle of battle."

The boy nodded firmly, clicking his heels together and pulling his body upright. "Yes, chief."

"And that it's necessary to withhold judgment about those we don't understand—be it those who talk to voices, or even a Horde of strangers." She made sure her face was serious, so the teen caught onto the weight of her words. "Making fun of what's unfamiliar leads to intolerance. Intolerance leads to hate. And hate leads to—"

"—needless killing." Aptos finished their lesson easily. "No worries. I won't forget!" He smiled and shook his shaggy head to disband the strange air that had settled around them. "Gods know I couldn't, with how many times you've told me!"

"Good," Gabrielle replied, watching the teen swell from the praise.

As her student turned eagerly towards the wall, ready for a fresh lesson, Gabrielle barely stopped herself from letting out a long breath to release the tension buzzing inside her head.

 _From now on, you've got to control your facial expressions around these kids better, Gabrielle. Keep it together. You've seen how fast a defense falls apart when the commander does._ She reinforced her thoughts with an imperceptible nod.

"Right behind you, Aptos," she called out, as the boy broke into a jog and leapt upon the ladder with his usual reckless ease. "Now let's go check on those bracing beams I had your team put up yesterday."


	4. Chapter 4

_So much for "rain or shine_ ," Gabrielle sighed to herself with a twinge of regret, as she stared out the Elder Home's wide front window. She lifted the heavy board she'd carried over with a small grunt, hefting its weight to chest height so she could plug the opening against the lashing gale.

As she walked back towards the elders, attempting to disregard some of the more openly admiring glances, Gabrielle could only recall a few times she'd seen a downpour begin so abruptly. Then she had to quickly close her eyes against memories of a vengeful late-night decision to kill her niece's captor Gurkhan, and then the sensation of being ill and strapped to Xena's back as the warrior dragged them both up an impossibly steep cliff to escape a band of ruthless cannibals. _Xena, always saving me—soul and body—rain or shine._

Without an audience, the bard might have let herself fall to her knees under the sudden, irrepressible desire to feel that secure once more, to wrap herself up in her protector's arms.

Instead, she moved on steady legs closer to the group of wizened faces, looking expectantly up at her from a scattering of chairs, a few candles casting low light on the tables before them. _No time for that kind of thinking, with good people like this relying on you_ , she reminded herself.

"So!" she said brightly, drawing on an energy she hadn't called up in too many moons to count. "We'll need to stay inside for a while until the storm passes. Who wants to hear a story?"

Four or five toothless grins came back in response, which Gabrielle took as her cue to pace towards the front of the room, already straightening her shoulders and taking in a deep breath to expand her chest, assuming the bardic posture. Then she closed her eyes and tipped her head towards the heavens—

— _Heaven. Xena, wings spread wide, battling to keep my soul in Heaven…the exquisite pain of being nailed to a cross…the shock of returning to my body on a cold stone slab…coming awake and looking at my side for_ —

—she dropped her head abruptly, green eyes snapping open. She blew out a sharp breath, feeling like she'd taken a blow to the gut.

"Something the matter, dearie?" A creaky woman's voice floated from the back of the room, and Gabrielle's mind grabbed ahold of it like a lifeline. With some effort, she pulled her distant gaze back into focus on the dim hovel around her, realizing she was staring wide-eyed at the huddled group. _Had minutes passed? Seconds?_

"Uhmm, no. No," she replied, hoping the small smile she could manage was reassuring. "Just taken by the Muse. A seizure of inspiration, grandmother." But she knew her light laugh sounded unsettling. _Get it together._

Sensitized to her surroundings once more, Gabrielle picked up on the hopeful pulse of the room, that familiar expectation of entertainment and lightened spirits that her storytelling seemed to promise. She reflected, not for the first time, how crucial that optimism was, that jolt of inspiration from the well-spun hero's tale, particularly when doom seemed to wait crouched outside in the shape of a heartless warlord— _Damarius' gang. Protecting the defenseless. Remember why you're here, Gabrielle_ —or in a howling wind that seemed intent to beat down the stout door of the Elder Home at any moment.

Gathering her breath and focus, the bard shut the room out from her senses and began searching her memory for the most appropriate story. She'd always had a knack for reading her audience—a skill she'd recently found, with satisfaction, also lent itself well to teaching eighteen teenagers how to properly execute an overhead staff swing—and she could pick up on this group's desire quite easily. A classic: dashing hero, insurmountable odds, a bit of romance, and a happy ending.

She already knew where _not_ to search in her memory's archive for just such a tale. She'd learned her lesson years ago, standing in a hospice in front of a crowd of similarly eager faces, several weeks after she'd stepped onto Egyptian silt to carry out her first solo mission.

Standing there, before the injured and dying, so in need of encouragement to live on past some of the darkest moments of their lives, she'd peered confidently outward and raised her voice unhesitatingly into the favorite epic she usually began her series with. The words came so automatically to her lips, so well-loved and worn smooth by countless retellings, that she didn't even think to check her momentum.

"I sing of Xena of Amphipolis, most valiant of warriors. So wracked, in her buried good heart, by the sins of her past, that she once stood in a wood and tried to bury the very sword that the world cried out for. And I sing of the fated moment that gave that world back the greatest hero it would ever come to kn—"

—and her throat had been so abruptly gripped by a crushing hold that, for a moment, the bard deliriously assumed an angry local war god had decided to choke her as penance for bringing peace to the region. But then the sledge of headache hit between her eyes, and she recognized her body's familiar hold against a rising torrent of tears.

Whirling so fast that her chakram bounced at her side, the bard had marched quickly out of the room, using all her will to order her feet not to break into a desperate run. When she finally burst out the hospice's front door and collapsed to the ground, she no longer cared who watched as her body shuddered and shuddered. An immeasurable moment passed before she realized that the guttural howl she heard sweeping about her was more than the cry of the desert winds. She slowly came to the awareness, as she finally closed her mouth against the animal sound, that blown sand covered her tongue. The gritty crunch of it between her teeth immediately lodged itself deep in her body's memory, vibrating through her bones in the years that followed, each time she caught a faceful of dirt in the midst of combat or heavy riding.

She never sang of Xena after that. But she consoled herself with the knowledge, at least, that Hercules would be remembered for decades—perhaps even centuries to come, if she had anything to do with it. Maybe someday every schoolgirl and boy would learn of his exploits.

Holding her storyteller's posture in the Elder Home common room, Gabrielle braced and then released her voice outwards, giving it a reach and resonance she'd started practicing when she was a young bard, picking up the skill at the Athens Academy before she made one of the best decisions of her life: to leave the school and re-join Xena on the road.

"I sing of Hercules, greatest among men. Who traveled the world to avenge the murder of his family at the hands of his wicked stepmother Hera—"

"Hercules!"

Gabrielle's voice caught as the same croak of an old woman's voice called out from the back of the room. The bard paused, closing her mouth and turning patiently toward the shadowy corner, where a crooked form topped by wiry white hair sat, tapping her cane and smiling from eyes set deep into wrinkles. The old woman jauntily tapped her cane on the floor twice more before heaving her small body up to rest most of what little weight she had upon it. Then she made her way purposefully to the front of the room to stand next to the bard, turning her wise gray eyes up to look far into green ones that held the slightest hint of hidden anguish.

" _I_ can tell you all about Hercules! Why, I knew that strapping man when he was just a tiny babe!" Gabrielle recognized, in the woman's attempt to straighten her bent spine and in the way her caved chest filled with more air than seemed imaginable at first, that she was standing beside a fellow bard.

"If you lot will just allow old Finnoria here to confer for a second's time with our resident Bard—don't want to take a fellow craftswoman's stage away from her, of course—then we'll get rip-roaring!" And then the elder grabbed Gabrielle's arm in a surprisingly firm, yet not unkind, grip, and turned them both away from the audience, dropping her voice to a whisper that only the younger woman could hear.

"My, my, girl! I know a choke when I see one. What's going on out there?" She continued on without pausing for a response, her eyes moving back and forth across Gabrielle's face with a practiced show-director's scrutiny. "Your heart's not in it today, child. Plain to see, and it's quite alright. We all have our off nights! But the show must go on. Yes?"

Gabrielle blinked, not answering for a moment to make sure that Finnoria was done speaking. "Yes...yes, you're right. I...I'm sorry." She looked down at the floor, feeling momentarily as if she was back at the Academy. "I just had no idea I was so transparent."

She felt a slap on her back as the old woman let out a surprisingly strong whoop of laughter. Then the voice dropped just as quickly to a gravelly range as she resumed her whisper. "No need to apologize, girl. And don't you worry—these mokes can't tell a thing. They're just waiting for a good story, is all. And probably wondering, at this point, what an old coot and a brawny warrior have to tittle about for so long."

Gabrielle felt a grin start to spread across her face. _This woman is infectious_.

"So, will you let me take this one, child?"

Gabrielle nodded, feeling more relief than she'd anticipated, and opened her mouth to thank her unexpected rescuer—but had to catch herself before she spoke to the back of a hemp dress and long mane of white hair, as Finnoria whirled toward their waiting audience with a dramatic extension of her arms and a lusty, "I sing of Hercules! King among men, even as a baby…!"


	5. Chapter 5

Gabrielle was still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes by the time Finnoria made her way back to the table and sat beside the younger bard.

"Gods, that felt good," Gabrielle admitted with one last chuckle, and placed a hand over one of Finnoria's. "Thank you."

"Say nothing of it," Finnoria replied, tapping her cane happily. "Glad I could bring some cheer to one who needed it so."

Gabrielle's smile fell from her face, which didn't go unnoticed by the sage sitting across from her. The old woman gave her own chuckle.

"Don't worry, child. You hide it quite well, for the most part. Stiff upper lip, and all that."

Then Finnoria reached out a gentle hand and lay it on the smooth cheek across from her, her playful expression shifting to a look of care. "Only an experienced show-woman—or maybe a smart warrior, hm?—is trained to not gloss over the little tics in behavior. Little giveaways in the eyes." She dropped her hand after a light pat and a meaningful look. "You know what I mean."

Gabrielle debated putting up a defense before dipping her head in admission with a low sigh. "Yes. I know what you mean." _Gods, I forgot what it felt like to be read like an open book._

"It might help to talk about it, my dear. Let the light in, air out the old cobwebs."

"I…" Gabrielle felt an unbidden knot begin to form in her throat. "...Thank you. But, I—"

"—I understand. It takes practice to do this kind of talking, doesn't it? It's a whole different game than what we do up there," Finnoria replied, pointing through the low candlelight, and past the dozing or quietly chattering figures around them, to the front of the room. "Yes, yes indeed," she answered her own question wistfully.

The two women sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Then Gabrielle gave a small nod, as if confirming something to herself. She opened her mouth slowly to speak.

"I know that talking helps. In fact, I used to talk all the time about my feelings, about any little thing that troubled me, really—maybe even talked a bit too much. At first." She pushed onward through the growing weight in her chest. "I...I used to travel with my partner, another warrior. The one on the receiving end of all the talking, for better or for worse." Her mouth twisted wryly. "I even got my partner to talk some, when I realized that me pausing for air could leave space for…"

"Xena." Gabrielle's eyes shot up at the sound of the name, coming from Finnoria's mouth. She'd forgotten how startling it sounded when it wasn't whispered in the shadows of her campsite or her own head.

"Yes, dear, I know she was your partner. Most of Greece knows—or have you forgotten that you used to write scrolls, Battling Bard?"

"Finnoria! Why didn't you tell me that you've read my work?" A pang of embarrassment shot up Gabrielle's spine as she recalled her performance— _or lack of one, really_ —just a couple hours earlier. Then the anvil that seemed to occupy her chest reminded her of its presence with full force. "Sorry," she said, with a quick look over to confirm that the older woman hadn't been fazed by the pique in her voice.

"No worries, child," Finnoria returned genially. "It takes a lot more to ruffle this old broad."

"I can tell. And it's a joy to watch you recite your own works."

"Thank you kindly. Now—don't change the subject. You were talking about what a load it takes off the shoulders to talk, yes? Perhaps about how you were going to start opening up to the next semi-retired bard who chatted you up in an Old Folks' Home…?"

Gabrielle couldn't help but half-mirror Finnoria's charming smile, but dropped green eyes to the table between them once more. "Actually, I...I…"

"Tongue-tied again, I see. No matter!" Finnoria rapped her cane against the wooden floor resolutely. "I'll go first, then. And tomorrow, when you come visit me again, you can give it another shot. Okay?"

Not giving the younger bard a chance to protest, the old woman launched herself into a quiet stream of words, almost as if talking to herself, and kept her gaze trained ahead of her carefully, so the young woman could feel free to experience her own reactions without feeling watched.

Gabrielle appreciated the gesture, and allowed herself to flow in and out of listening to the comforting voice, prodding herself to focus briefly and smile whenever Finnoria made her own self laugh. More than following the words, the younger bard followed the rhythm of the tones, allowing the sensation of being told a story by a grandmother to lull her.

 _Xena_ , the name wove throughout her thoughts, as it usually did when she found herself feeling a short-lived uplift. _I wish you were here to share this with me_.

She felt almost adrift in a trance by the time she realized that Finnoria had called her name several times.

"Gabrielle? Girlie! Where'd you go off to, hm?" Finnoria's apprehension shifted into a performance of a chiding parent as soon as she could tell the younger bard was paying attention.

"Tsk, tsk, and what are all we helpless little elders to do with our defendress on mental vacation?" she lamented theatrically. "Now, now, before you even think about apologizing again, don't. You know I'm teasing you, child! All I was saying was: seems the rain's finally let up. Almost as quick as it came, hah!"

Gabrielle shifted a well-trained ear toward the home's large front window, and no longer sensed even the lightest patter against the wooden barrier she'd erected several hours ago.

"I think you're right, Finnoria. Let me just take a look out the front door to make sure."

But before Gabrielle could shake her drowsy body into action, the front door opened inward, letting a slice of light into the near-darkness of the mostly-slumbering room.

"Helloooo?" A lively voice called out. "Anyone seen a professional warrior-turned-taste-tester around these parts?" Malena stepped over the threshold and blinked as her eyes appeared to take their time getting used to the home's dim interior. "If I can't find my Gabrielle, I'm going to have to eat all these cinnamon buns by myself—and none o' you want to see what that would look like!"

"Over here, Malena," Gabrielle said with a chuckle and wave of her hand. She watched her friend make her way towards her voice, carrying a large wicker basket under one arm. "How on earth did you find me? And you shouldn't have gone out so soon after a storm—what if the rain had started up again!"

"Don't you fret over me, lass," the baker replied, pulling up a chair next to Finnoria, who looked pleased to have the sweet-smelling basket within such close reach. "I was going stir crazy in my house, just knowing that I couldn't leave it! Found Palamus, who told me where you'd likely be at this hour. Besides, I had to make sure you were fed before you dashed off for the night."

 _Night._ Gabrielle pushed her chair back with an abrupt scrape. _How soon until dusk falls?_ She cursed herself for losing track of the sun's arc through the sky while in the timeless space of a barricaded room and under the spell of hushed storytelling.

"I have to get going—I need to fetch Argo from your house." Her mind had already begun to calculate how to make it back to her camp in the least amount of time. Then she looked over at Malena apologetically. "Can I try those cinnamon buns for you while we walk back together?"

The baker sighed, but stood nonetheless. "O' course, dear. I know it'd be useless to try to convince you to relax a bit longer anyhow."

As the bard turned quickly to leave, preoccupation knitting her eyebrows together, Malena placed a hand insistently on her closest arm, feeling the ropy muscle and a propulsive energy that could have dragged the older woman along with her, if honed instincts hadn't made Gabrielle pull herself up short at the touch. She paused, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"I don't mind you rushing off to your mysterious nighttime warrior business," Malena said quietly, "but I'll not forget my quaint villager manners." She reached into her basket and pulled out a bun shiny with melted sugar, and held it out to the ancient-looking woman who had been watching their exchange with interest. "Who's your new friend?"

Gabrielle's face formed another apology as she consciously ordered her body to pivot back towards the two women who were looking at her with expectation.

"Of course. I don't know where my head's at," she said as quickly as decorum would allow. "Malena, meet Finnoria the bard. Finnoria, meet Malena the baker." The two older women exchanged glances and then grinned at each other, apparently recognizing kindred spirits.

"Any time you need a back-up taste-tester, you know where to find me," Finnoria said with a wink, biting into her cinnamon bun and pulling an exaggerated face of ecstasy that made even the harried Gabrielle laugh out loud. Then the bard's expression became intent once more, as she pulled away from Malena's light grasp and headed for the door.

Watching the retreating form with a knowing look, Finnoria easily projected her voice across the room.

"Dearie? Come back and give that talking thing a try some time, you hear? You might just find that a room full of old widows can understand even what _you_ don't think can be spoken."


	6. Chapter 6

For once, Gabrielle had been overjoyed to find the gates of Thraxos wide open.

Wheeling Argo around hard in front of Malena's house, she'd kneed the horse into as fast of a run as she dared to on village streets. She was able to cross the entire village in a few minutes, and nudged the horse into a flat-out gallop down the final stretch of road, giving thanks to the Gods that she spied no pedestrians about and that she wouldn't have to slow down for the half-minute it would take to hop down and unlatch her only roadblock.

Now Argo was pounding the dirt road beneath them, sending pebbles flying and Gabrielle's long coat billowing behind, as they closed the distance between Thraxos and the campsite with greater speed than the pair had ever attempted. Gabrielle leaned low over Argo's shoulder, murmuring words into the horse's ear meant to encourage animal as much as rider.

"C'mon, girl, we're almost there. Just a few minutes more. That break in the tree-line means we're close."

She knew the forest was whizzing by her, but nonetheless the bard felt as if she were traveling in slow motion. She'd entered a zone, where the only sounds filtering into her awareness were three asymmetrical rhythms that marked a kind of Time she inhabited alone: the tattoo of horse hooves, the ragged pulse of her breath, and the thunder of her heart.

_I have to make it back before dusk turns to night._ She gritted her teeth and leant down a fraction of an inch closer to Argo's back, willing the two of them to meld into one streamlined form. _Xena, I'm coming. I won't leave you waiting, wondering where I am._

"That's it! Just one minute more," she told Argo with grim determination, spotting the clearing that was widening before them; in seconds, she was close enough to glimpse the ring of stones that marked her fire-pit. She pulled on the reigns as hard as she knew Argo would let her, demanding a rough halt and whispering a quick "thank you" to the horse as they slowed and made a circle around the campsite.

The second Argo decelerated enough for her to safely dismount, Gabrielle swung her legs down toward the ground, landing solidly and absorbing her momentum into a crouch that she let turn into a roll. She leapt up without slowing and bounded over to the sooty center of her camp. Then she placed her fingers at her lips to blow a particular whistle that signaled Argo to find the nearest river, where the horse could drink as much water as she needed and let the lather evaporate from her sweaty haunches.

Meanwhile, the fingers of Gabrielle's other hand scrambled in the left pocket of her leather coat, grasping for the flint she always carried there. Kneeling down next to the pit, she struck the firestarter against the nearest stone, grateful that she'd happened to gather excess kindling and firewood the night before. She looked up at the sky for the hundredth time, noting that the red that had filled the expanse just a minute before had sunk into a purplish haze. Night would fall in just a few minutes more.

After a few controlled cracks of the stones together, and then some feverish blowing on the kindling to ensure the fire caught, Gabrielle sat back from the small blaze before her, watching it grow as it consumed more fuel. She finally let her breath slow to a regular pace, noticing it pluming into white clouds in the night air.

Never taking her eyes off the spot across the flames where Xena usually materialized, she mused to herself about her intense need to build the fire. Nothing, exactly, had indicated to her that this was a required part of the nightly ritual, but for some reason she clung to it as something that might better coax Xena's spirit into a visible form.

_No one gave me the guidebook on attracting the soul of one's dead beloved back to earth_ , she thought, almost letting a bitter snort escape her lips. But she controlled herself: It was another part of the practice for her. There was only one utterance she'd let pierce the stillness.

"Xena?"

She waited for a beat, holding her breath and staring at the ground, to see if leather boots might emerge before her eyes.

Nothing. Yet.

She could be patient. She could wait—that she didn't mind. But the earlier image she'd had of herself arriving late at the campsite, which had propelled her to race away from Thraxos with the barest of goodbyes to Malena, had been too much to withstand. The thought of Xena's spirit, standing there fixed to her spot, silently regarding an empty sitting stone across an unlit pyre, left to wonder if Gabrielle had finally fallen in battle—or worse, had chosen not to meet there any longer, with no reason given—had felt like a puncture wound inside the bard's chest.

"Xena…?"

Gabrielle momentarily let the day's memories unravel before her mind's eye, coming to rest upon one. How, when she'd been rushing away from the village, Malena had regarded her with wondering eyes, asking the same question she always did, without elaboration. "Why?"

_Why._

_Why the haste? Why turn out into the cold when a cot awaits me next to your hearth? Why eat rations next to no one, when my stomach could be full of your good food, my ears full of your fuss and laughter? Why seem to flee from new friends, meaningful labor, a village that would be more than happy to have me call it 'home'?_

She sighed internally.

_Malena, if only I could explain. If only I could find words that did justice to…this. This moment here, in front of the fire, and how I need it more than anything. How I'd give up food and water and heat and light for it. How I'm not fully sure I'd know I was still existing without it. Words don't…they just can't…they…_

Gabrielle's mind froze, flashing blank as she caught movement at the edge of her vision. Her senses sharply focused on the damp patch of dirt across the fire, blocking out all else. That peculiar stillness, knowable only to her, caught the air about her head and then settled over her shoulders, gliding down her body, to finally envelop her. She closed her eyes with an expectant shiver.

Tip of the head. Inhale. Swallow hard. Exhale, steady. And…open.

"Xena."


End file.
